


221 Word Drabbles

by Solea



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: 221B Ficlet, Drabbles, Friendship, Love, Multi, Pranks and Practical Jokes
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-06-06
Updated: 2014-07-03
Packaged: 2018-02-03 15:55:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 1,163
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1750247
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Solea/pseuds/Solea
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is mostly stuff I've removed from other works due to lack of space/pacing whatever and edited into drabbles. Some are Johnlock, some are my favorite ot3, some are funny, some are decidedly not. Ratings vary. I'll warn about anything drastic in the comments. Enjoy!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Redressing the Balance

“It’s...huge,”  Sherlock murmurs.  John scowls, but just as he’s about to bite out a response, he realizes that Sherlock has begun shaking. Abruptly, he leans against John, pressing their chests together, hungry for contact. He clasps the back of John’s neck hard with the hand not stroking his scar.

“John, I had no idea it was so...I can’t--I can’t believe I almost lost you before I even knew you.” He moans. Mystified, John rests his head against Sherlock’s shoulder, stroking his back reassuringly.

“Hey, it’s fine. Sherlock, I’m right here.” _Here and horny, ta_ … he thinks wryly, wondering how he can get them back on track.

“I want to...solve it. To take it away. To make it never have happened.” Sherlock mutters, gently kneading the back of John’s neck.

John runs his fingers up the long, strong column of Sherlock’s back.  The scar tissue over Sherlock’s shoulders is still soft, and  tender, and Sherlock shivers against him as he strokes. “I know what you mean,” John whispers.

They stand wrapped around each other for long moments, contemplating the meaning of pain.

“There’s only one thing for it,” John says suddenly.

Sherlock huffs against his hair and rubs his cheek against it.

“We can’t change the past, but we can do our best to redress the balance, yeah?”

 

 


	2. What's Another Word for Experiment?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock pranks John. Except of course HE doesn't call it that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one's for Amilyn who gave me the idea for pranks!

“Sherlock? What’ve you done?”

Interestingly, Mary’s first reaction upon returning home from holiday to a chorus of shouted invective is not violence.

“Nothing harmful. Nothing...permanent. I added some madder root extract to John’s shampoo. To see how long it would take.”

“How long _what_ would take?”

“Mary! Is that you? He’s dyed my hair bloody _pink_. _Kill_ him!”

“Technically, John, having daily applied the shampoo himself, has dyed his _own_ hair.”

“Pink?”

“...Yes.”

“Why?”

“Applied regularly over time, madder--”

“No, you pretty idiot. _Why_?”

“Oh. Bored.”

“You were bored. So you caused John to dye his hair. Pink.”

“Accurately summarized. Why’re you laughing?”

“You pranked John! It’s _hilarious_.”

Prank. How puerile.

“It was an _experiment_ , Mary.”

“On what?”

“John’s level of anger once he realized what he’d done. Or how long it would take him to notice his hair was slowly changing color. Pick one.”

“You made John dye his hair to observe his reaction. Pretty sure that’s the _definition_ of the word prank.”

A quick search on my phone proves Mary disturbingly close to correct.

“John! How did you not notice THAT?”

“He was distracted. By a case.”

The hue of John’s skin wars for dominance with his hair as he stalks, towel-clad, toward us.

“This prank game? It’s totally on.”

“It was an _experiment_!”

“It’s _on_ Sherlock!”

Bugger.

 

 


	3. The Spice of Life

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A discussion on the merits of adventurous eating. Despite what you might think from this summary, this chapter is utterly smut free. Also? It's definitely not 221 words. Rules were made to be broken.

They were standing, ranged around him, helmets and packs vying for space with close-set carts of spices, pomegranates and cheap trinkets. In their hands they held skewers impaling... Sherlock squints at the photo. Based on the carapace, probably a locust.

Nearly identical expressions of disgusted hilarity are plastered across all faces but one. Sherlock extrapolates the exact expression of curious contemplation hidden by helmet and sunglasses from the upturned corner of John’s lip. A lip from which hung a gangly multi-jointed _leg_.

“You’re like a toddler, you know.” Sherlock barely avoids leaping up in surprise and smiles.  It’s wonderful to be surprised. It’s wonderful that someone can surprise him. “When I stop hearing noise, I know something’s up. Oh! You found photos! I remember that.”

“I, too, would distinctly recall a day on which I chose to ingest a locust. No doubt on some sort of idiotic dare.”

“Might have been a dare for them, but I was just curious. Here, you want to see something really out there…” John pulled the stack of photos from Sherlock’s hands and shuffled them. “There!”

John, no helmet or sunglasses this time, dangling a scorpion by it’s tail above his upturned, open mouth.

“Did you honestly eat that?”

“Asks the man who routinely tastes blood at crime scenes. Yes, yes I did. Tasted of chicken. Kind of.”

“Using the full range of one’s senses in the interest of solving crimes is not remotely like eating a scorpion for kicks.”

“Like I said, I was curious.”

“Exactly when did _that_ happen? I’m betting mummy Watson was a roast and pud type.”

“She absolutely was. I didn’t know there were starches other than potatoes ‘til uni.” John’s affection smile fades to thoughtfulness.

“It was after deployment, that I started caring about food. Mess hall food was awful. Every time we were in a town or a city and we had some down time, I’d hunt up the most exotic thing to eat I could find. They _really_ know how to cook over there.”

Silence reigned as John continued flipping through pictures when he paused.

Green trees framed by a window sill and an IV stand, a beige tray of dry looking beef and flaccid green beans in the foreground.

Sherlock silently titles it “Still Life and Despair” and feels vaguely nauseous.

“Last thing I remember eating in Afghanistan was this amazing spicy goat thing with flatbread.” John mutters. “Nothing mattered for so long and then this nurse brought me the most delicious pair. And I could sort of see some light again.”

There’s a twitch, a cautious hand rests on a shoulder. A chin tucks in.

“Speaking of food, Sherlock, I’m sure you haven’t had dinner, since I haven’t. Takeaway?”

“Actually, there’s a new place at the end of Marylebone. Ariana.”

“Any good? I mean, your shiny door handle thing won’t work if it’s new.”

“Come now. Where’s your sense of adventure?”

“What kind of food is it? Out of curiosity you understand.”

“Afghan. Obvious.”


	4. For AtlinMerrick: The First Thing John Said to Mike After Sherlock Left.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A true 221B based on a prompt that AtlinMerrik has on her [back to school blog](http://backtoschool4atlin.tumblr.com/post/67581547478/so-ive-made-a-twenty-year-career-out-of-taking)
> 
> The prompt was "The first thing John said to Mike after sherlock left" which I chose to interpret as leaving the room at Barts when they first met rather than leaving the rooftop of Barts...later. Oy. That one might come later.

 

“Always like what?”

“Sorry?”

“Mike, you just said ‘he’s always like that.’ What on Earth _was_ that? And why on Earth d’you think we’d get on? I mean, did you see the way he treated that lady?”

“Oh, Molly doesn’t mind. But _you_ do, and I think that’s why it may work.”

“Sorry?”

“Well you saw him, John. He crushes people. Does it all the time, steps all over them. I’m not sure he even means to, really. It’s just his way. But I get the feeling if he stepped on you it would be like stepping on a lego. Right in the heel! Be good for him.”

“Ah, so I’m meant to fix him am I? And what might I get out of this?”

“Look, John. I can see I’ve upset you, and I’m sorry. I’d be happy to help you find another flatmate. There’s a few interns that would love to pay less--”

“No, Jesus. Sorry Mike. It’s just. Sorry. I appreciate you thinking of me. He’s odd, for sure, but I’m no...I’m no prize myself at the moment.  I’ll pop by this evening and-- Damn!”

“What?”

“I’ve forgotten the address. Should have put it in my phone.”

“Check.”

“What?”

“Check your phone.”

“Why--Well. When the hell’d he have time to do that?

“Classic Sherlock.”

“Thats... brilliant.”


End file.
